


Hazelnuts and dried roses

by anastasiapullingteeth



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: M/M, the others are there too but like just implied?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-09
Updated: 2013-12-09
Packaged: 2018-01-10 18:10:44
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,307
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1162889
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/anastasiapullingteeth/pseuds/anastasiapullingteeth
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jehan loses in Mario Kart and must accept the penalty.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Hazelnuts and dried roses

"Ha! You lost again, now you have to pay."

"... Three of five?"

"Don’t be a chicken, Jehan. Face your penalty with dignity. "Grantaire sentenced, still celebrating his victory. "Courf, if you please."

"Sorry, man." Courfeyrac handed him the velvet pouch with the penalties and didn’t even try to hide the huge smile on his face.

"Yeah, sure..." Jehan reached in and pulled out a random piece of paper. There were only two words written on it, along with the doodle of a crown. The poet hummed with indifference, it didn’t seem so bad. "Who invented the penalties, again?"

"Courfeyrac," they answered at the same time.

"What did you get?" Bahorel snatched the paper out of his hand and whistled. "Five kisses... what was this supposed to mean?" He asked, pointing at the crown.

"That the winner gets to put the conditions." Courfeyrac repeated for the eighth time that afternoon, why they could never remember the rules?

"... So, I get to kiss him whenever and  _wherever_  I want, right? Hmmm, interesting ... " the cynic decided, scratching his chin.

Jehan blushed right away. It was amazing how quickly he’d thought of a couple of places where he would like Grantaire to kiss him. He swallowed loudly, watching the smile on his friend’s face.

 

* * *

 

**I. Nose**

 

Three whole days passed before Grantaire kissed him and, by then, Jehan had forgotten about it. All the other penalties were done that same night (including one in which Enjolras had to give a fifteen-second lap dance to Combeferre), except for his own. Éponine had begged Grantaire to cut off the suspense and be done with it already, but he’d refused. Jehan really didn’t care, it was just a game.

 

The chestnut haired boy was on his way home from his Medieval Literature class when he saw Grantaire coming out of the gym. His hair was slightly wet after taking a shower at the end of his fencing lesson and was carrying a sports bag. As soon as he noticed him, Grantaire waved his hand and beckoned him to wait. Jehan saw him say goodbye to some of his teammates and then run to meet him.

"Hey, JP! Haven’t seen you in forever! Being busy?"

"Not exactly ..." Jehan told him about his class and how the professor had arranged a Tarot Session to approach the Arthurian text they were studying at the moment. Somehow, the topic diverted to the tragic story of young Tristan and his beloved Isolde, of which they kept talking until they reached the entrance of the building.

Jehan invited him to come in and have a drink, but Grantaire had yet to return to his last class of the day. When they parted at the door, Grantaire took a few steps toward him and placed a soft kiss on his nose. Jehan looked at him confused. "One of five," he said, walking backwards down the street. Jehan stood in the doorway until the boy was out of sight.

 

* * *

 

**II. Forehead**

 

The next kiss happened almost a week later. They’d met on some occasions during those days but Grantaire had made no move and Jehan refused to remind him about it for fear of look a little too eager. It was true the kiss on the nose had given him butterflies, but what really troubled him was not knowing exactly when the next would happen.

 

It was nearly one in the morning when a knock on the door made him take his eyes away from the book; on the table in front of him, were a lot of other paperbacks. He placed the dry rose he used as bookmark between the pages and went to open the door.

Grantaire was leaning on the door frame with his eyes closed, humming a song that Jehan didn’t know. He opened one eye and smiled lazily. "Hello. Can I sleep on your couch?" He asked with his voice hoarse. He didn’t seem drunk, though. His hazel eyes were clear and his breath had a faint smell of ashes, but nothing else. Jehan stepped aside to let him in and went to get a blanket and pillow.

When he returned, found his friend with the book in his hands, reading the pages that Jehan had marked. " _The Roman de la Rose_  ... You haven’t read all these today, have you?" Grantaire asked, rolling the rose between his fingers.

"Uhm, well..."

"What?! Have you been reading all day?"

"Kind of...?"

"Well, time for bed,  _mon petit_. Your eyes need to rest." Grantaire placed the book on the table and stood up. He took Jehan by the shoulders and guided him into the bedroom.

"But... the book." Jehan stretched his hand, trying to grasp it.

"It’ll still be there tomorrow, waiting for you. Now, go to sleep."

After Grantaire was sure the poet was comfortable and warm under the covers, he leaned above him and kissed his forehead, near to his left eyebrow. "Sweet dreams. And don’t even try to sneak into the living room and take the book back, I’ll be watching you." Grantaire turned off the lights and just before closing the door, said: "Two of five."

That night, Jehan dreamed of hazelnuts and dried roses.

 

* * *

 

**III. Neck**

 

Jehan only had to wait a few hours for the third kiss. It was Friday night and all the Amis were stacked in Marius’s living room for an almost impossible movie marathon.

Before they played the second one of the night, Bossuet informed them they had ran out of popcorns. Considering what had happened the last time the bald had been close to the microwave, Jehan offered himself to go get them. "No, no, I can do it."

"Don’t worry. I'm the closest to the kitchen, anyway."

When he was waiting for the second bag, Grantaire entered the kitchen and opened the fridge. "They sent me for drinks," he said, taking out a couple of cokes. "Tell me, did you finish that book?"

"Yes, this morning. I could’ve done it yesterday if someone hadn’t kidnapped it." Jehan stuck his tongue out at him.

"I was taking care of you, you ungrateful goon." Grantaire was on him in a second, tickling him.

They both laughed out loud until Feuilly interrupted them. "Hey, you two!” he shouted from the living room. “Where the hell are those popcorns?!"

"Go ahead, I'm coming in a sec." Jehan panted, trying to catch his breath as he emptied the last bag into the bowl.

Grantaire took the cokes and headed to the door. "Oh, I almost forgot." He strode back into the room and stood behind Jehan, so close that the poet could feel his breath on the nape of his neck. Grantaire’s lips settled on his throat, just above his pulse point. "Three of five", he whispered in his ear before leaving the kitchen.

The popcorn took another ten minutes to get to Feuilly’s hands.

 

* * *

 

**IV. Corner of the mouth**

 

The next two weeks were an agony for Jehan. After he’d managed to regain calm and sat on the floor next to Éponine, the poet couldn’t focus on the TV anymore. He was still thinking about what had happened in the kitchen and the feeling didn’t let him until the next week. It was just a game, he wasn’t supposed to feel this way. In retrospective, even Enjolras’s penalty seemed a blessing compared to his.

 

Grantaire had qualified for the Sectionals of the Fencing Tournament and spent all his time training, so they barely see him. Enjolras was angry because he couldn’t start the meeting yet, even though it only had passed 10 minutes. Grantaire, Feuilly and Bahorel hadn’t yet arrived, they were the only ones missing. "Enough, I won’t wait for them anymore."

"Give them another five minutes, Enjolras." Jehan requested. Grantaire's competition should be finishing by then and Bahorel would be supporting him from the stands (Jehan had wanted to go too, but he had an exam that really couldn’t afford to fail). Bahorel and Jehan were the only ones who knew about the competition, but Grantaire had forbidden them to tell someone else. Feuilly’s absence, on the other hand, was a mystery.

Fortunately, Enjolras didn’t have to wait any longer. In that moment, the doors of the Cafe Musain opened wide, announcing the arrival of the trio of friends. "'Chetta, beers for everyone, we have to celebrate!"

Feuilly and Bahorel were leading Grantaire to the table where the rest of the group was. Bahorel kept shaking the boy's shoulders with excitement, while Feuilly ruffled his hair every two steps. Grantaire walked with his head down, but Jehan could see the redness of his ears and neck.

"What are we celebrating?" Combeferre asked, looking at Enjolras askance.

"This fucker won the Sectionals! First place, dude!" Bahorel yelled. Jehan squealed with excitement and hugged his friend tightly as Feuilly and Bahorel told the story of how Grantaire had defeated all his opponents (and how Feuilly had appeared out of nowhere next to Bahorel after he saw them going into the gym).

"And the Regionals within a month. Are you nervous?" Jehan rubbed Grantaire’s back gently, trying to sooth him. The two of them had stayed behind the group since the brunet seemed a little overwhelmed.

"I don’t know what I'm gonna do, Jehan. No, scratch that, I  _do_  know what’s gonna happen, I'm gonna ruin it, that's for sure."

"What are you talking about? You've gone so far already. We’ll be supporting you and, whatever happen, I'm already really proud of you." Grantaire smiled and hugged the poet again. Before letting him go, the brunet kissed the corner of his mouth and nuzzled at his neck.

"Four?" Jehan gasped.

"What?"

"This is the fourth kiss, there’s only one left."

"Oh... Yeah, just one..."

"Awwww, I want to hug the champion, too!" Courfeyrac sing-sang before tackled them in an attempt of a hug. The rest of the group followed suit (except for Enjolras and Combeferre) and all of them ended up stacked on the floor. Jehan could only think of Grantaire’s breath tickling his neck.

 

* * *

 

**V. Lips**

 

Jehan was afraid of the last kiss. The last time, Grantaire had kissed him near the mouth, which could mean the fifth kiss would be right on the lips. And Jehan feared not being able to stop if that happened (although he also was worried Grantaire chose to kiss him in a totally insignificant place, as the cheek or the hand).

 

Grantaire didn’t attend to the meeting next week. According to Bahorel, the dark-haired boy was ill and hadn’t wanted to leave his bed all day. Jehan made a mental note to call him later to check on him.

"He’s probably hung over or still drunk." Enjolras speculated.

"Oh... Maybe someone should go see if he’s fine?"

Everyone looked at Jehan immediately. "Why are you looking at me? Bahorel lives with him."

"But you're his best friend."

"Yeah, but Bahorel _literally_ lives there." Jehan growled.

"I have to work. Why are you so grumpy, anyway? Do you have plans?"

"No..." Bahorel raised an eyebrow. "Okay, fine, I'll go."

 

Jehan nocked the door of Grantaire’s apartment, but nobody answered. After deciding his friend possibly was still asleep, he took the spare key from under the pot in the hall and got himself in. The apartment was a mess, there were half-empty mugs, books and clothing everywhere.

The poet headed to Grantaire’s bedroom and opened the door. His friend was hiding under the covers but he managed to throw a pillow that Jehan barely dodged. "Fuck off, Bahorel. I told you I won’t go to the meeting."

"I came to see how you were." The poet bit back the laughter, Grantaire seemed miserable.

"Jehan? What are you doing here?"

"I told you, I came to see you. Bahorel said you were sick, how do you feel?" Jehan had crossed the room and was now sitting next to Grantaire. He placed the back of his hand on his friend's forehead.

"I ain't sick. I just drank a little… too much."

"Oh."

The two sat there in silence with their eyes fixed on each other. Grantaire inched closer to him and bent down to kiss him, but seemed to reconsider it at the last moment, so he cocked his head to Jehan’s cheek.  _No way_ , the poet thought,  _I won’t let that happen_. Jehan turned his head just in time and caught the boy’s lips between his own. Grantaire made a sound of surprise in the back of his throat, but after a few seconds, finally laid a hand on the nape of Jehan’s neck and kissed him back.

Jehan parted his lips and Grantaire took the opportunity to lick his way into his mouth. Jehan clenched the lapels of Grantaire’s jacket when he nibbled gently at his lower lip. They broke the kiss and rested their foreheads together, trying to absorb what had happened.

"Five of five." Jehan muttered.

"You, young man, just broke the rules." Grantaire said in a deep voice. "I was supposed to put the conditions."

"I was trying to help…"

"Even so, you interfered. I'm afraid we'll have to repeat the penalty all over again,  _mon petit_."

"Well, if so I have a couple of ideas." Jehan waved his eyebrows mischievously. Grantaire laughed deeply and kissed him again.

 

 

(The next time they played Mario Kart, just after Grantaire won third place in the Regionals of the Fencing Tournament, he and Jehan had to pay for all the drinks and snacks of the night as a punishment for hiding the thing with the kisses from their friends.

Courfeyrac thrown popcorns at them every time Grantaire or Jehan took his turn with the control because "How is it possible you hid it away from me?! And you call yourselves my friends."

This time, Jehan made sure to win.)


End file.
